


Re-Vamped

by dendraica



Category: The Venture Bros
Genre: Drabble Collection, Drabble Sequence, M/M, Vampire!Pete AU, also the title is a giant pun, awkward mostly unspoken slash, because these nerds don't ever just TALK about how they feel, im not sorry, prepare for both feels and humor, vampire lore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-26 19:20:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 5,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6252280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dendraica/pseuds/dendraica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One late night encounter at a party changes everything for Peter White, and by consequence, Billy Whalen. Things go from bad to worse to better as they do what they've always done best : stick together through everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Seeing Red

She had bitten him much too hard.

Up until then, Pete had been enjoying the little kisses and nibbles along his neck. Now he was trying to keep blood from staining his high collar; that shit was impossible to get out of satin.

Grinning sheepishly, he excused himself, telling her he had to go check on his companion. He backed out of the shadowed alcove hurriedly. She made no protest, just watching, smirking, licking a few drops of blood from her lips. 

Christ, just like that song by Hall and Oates. 

He wandered out to the middle of the dance floor. Rust's parties usually were kind of sad, but his newfound wealth in New York apparently attracted all kinds of people. Quickly enough, Pete glimpsed Billy's red hair. Whalen had found himself a gal to dance with (heh, little guy could cut a mean rug). 

Pete felt a bit like cutting in, because really, he was bleeding kinda bad and maybe Billy should take a look. Then again, Billy was enjoying himself a lot. And maybe Pete should have figured that dressing up like a freakin' Ann Rice character would attract someone into blood-play. 

By the bar, he saw Rusty chatting up a woman half his age. She was listening with forced politeness, smile strained. Pete saw her desperately poking another girl behind her to stage a rescue. 

He kept walking, not wanting to witness what he'd seen countless times. Rusty always believed women when they'd said they'd be right back. He'd likely be waiting there all night and it was enough to make Pete cringe with second hand embarrassment. Not just for Rusty, but for himself. 

What was he even doing here? What were any of them doing? 

Pete leaned against the wall, feeling stupidly out of place and trapped by the echoes of failure.


	2. Gateway

Everything burned and ached. Fire raced through his veins and made him writhe in the sheets. For the fourth time that night, Pete got up and raced to the bathroom to toss the contents of his stomach.

Over the flushing, he dimly heard small feet shuffling down the hallway. A cool hand brushed aside his hair and touched his forehead.

"Geez, White, you're on fire! Why didn't you wake me? This could be serious!"

Pete closed the toilet lid and shakily stood in front of the sink, rinsing his mouth out. 

"Don't worry, pally. I figure I just . . . drank something weird." 

"What, like an entire row of malaria test tubes? And what's that on your neck?"

Pete covered it up with a hand, unable to look Billy in the eye for some reason. "Eh. It's . . . a hickey."

"Well, it looks painful. What are your symptoms?" The concern in Billy's tone melted him as always, and Pete slowly eased himself down to sit with his back to the cabinet.

"I'm hot, thirsty, nauseous, dizzy . . . seriously, the room's just spinning. And my head's killing me."

"Is that it? Any problems with urinating or maybe --"

"Ew, Billy, no! No, the ah, plumbing's all normal," Pete hastened, not wanting to have to describe anything of that nature. The very thought of it was mortifying.

Billy didn't look entirely reassured. "I don't like asking the awkward questions either, but if it could save your life, I gotta."

"Pally, I'm not dying, I got the flu or something. I'm exhausted and I just wanna get through the night without puking up stomach acid. Can I take something for this?"

"I can't say for certain yet. Hold on."

Pete watched Billy climb up his step ladder to access the medicine cabinet, then cringed as his friend took out the thermometer.

"Eh, come on, Billy, that's probably been in every orifice in this house by now. Please tell me there's sterile covers with it."

"Relax, there's a few in the box." He slipped one on and Pete obligingly allowed Billy to stick it beneath his tongue. He saw digital numbers going up, but his eyes wouldn't focus enough to read them. After an eternity, the thing beeped. Billy took it from him and his eyes widened.

"Wow, okay, 104. Yeah, that is not good." Billy plugged the tub and turned on the faucet to cold. "We gotta cool you down, White." The fear in Billy's tone told Pete he shouldn't bother arguing.

He fumbled with the buttons on his nightshirt, feeling nauseous all over again from looking down. Billy's hands gently batted his away and undid them enough to pull the shirt over his head. Pete stood unsteadily to step out of his boxers and into the cold tub water. 

The tub had handlebars installed in the wall, for which Pete was grateful for; he needed them to keep the sudden vertigo from slamming him headfirst into the shower fixtures. He sat down, gasping and shivering, but had to admit the cold felt good.

"You'll be okay, Pete," Billy was murmuring. "You're gonna be just fine."

A cold cloth pressed against his forehead, making him sigh shakily in relief. He noticed the use of his first name and chuckled weakly. Billy must really be worried or something. 

Somewhere between the running water and the gentle ministrations of Billy's hands soothing his burning skin, Pete fell asleep. 

He didn't feel Billy gently wiping away the dried blood scabs from the wound he'd gotten earlier that night. 

He didn't see or hear Billy's fright when the blood was cleared away enough to reveal two identical puncture wounds.


	3. Cold Embrace

His heart was in his stomach as he stared at the pale unmoving figure on the bed. Billy's trembling hands pressed over his mouth, as his brain short circuited in remembering what the appropriate actions upon finding a corpse was. 

The man's skin was freezing cold and he had no pulse. It was hours too late for CPR, he really should be concerned with calling the coroner, but that logic warred with emotion and lost. 

Billy clambered onto the bed and rolled Pete over onto his back violently. He pressed both hands one over the other above the center of his chest and started to push down for a count of thirty. 

All the while, his brain kept rhythm and also screamed faintly in the background that this was his fault; he should have taken White to the hospital after his fever had broken instead of just helping him to bed.

He at least should never have left him alone.

"OW," the corpse moaned and tried to push him off. "Pally, it's not even Christmas morning, what are you doing?"

Billy yelped and scrambled off him, then came back after a second to fiercely and aggressively hug White's head. "Oh my god, I thought you were dead!"

"You what?" Pete let Billy continue to hug him for a few moments, then started to sit up. "I'm not, I feel way better than last night."

"But White, you're totally corpse white! Like, practically cool tones!"

"Um, pally?" Pete started.

"Don't give me that, you smart-ass, I know you're albino, dammit! You weren't breathing and you had no pulse!"

"Seriously? I'm fairly sure I didn't see any light at the end of any tunnels, so I guess my dad was right," he smirked. Billy wasn't fooled, he could see White trembling. Pete always tried to play off being unconcerned when someone else was worrying, even when it was about him. He only freaked out and panicked outwardly when he was alone long enough to. Billy could see his inner distress from outer space.

What he couldn't see was White's chest rising and falling.

"Okay, White, just breathe - I-I could have been wrong." Billy figured he should take him to the hospital just in case. "I think we should go get you checked out anyway."

"Billy? I, uh, I can't breathe," White said, unevenly. 

"What?!" But White was talking; that didn't make any . . .

His thoughts returned unbidden to the two puncture wounds in the man's neck, then he angrily dismissed it. Life wasn't like the movies.

Billy seized Pete's wrist and felt for the heartbeat.

There was a long agonizing moment of silence. Billy kept trying, pressing down with his fingers until Pete made a noise of discomfort. He sighed shakily, letting his companion's hand drop.

"I . . . I really don't know how to tell you this, White . . . but you appear to be technically deceased."


	4. The True You

Plan A had been to go to the hospital. That obviously was going to be more of a pain in the ass than it was worth, plus had the possible disadvantage of a death certificate being signed and processed.

Plan B was VenTech. It was possible J.J. had come up with a way to reverse the effects of vampirism. (Billy hated calling it that, he'd earnestly believed in vampires once and had felt so unbelievably stupid afterwards.)

"But why would you want to?" Rusty had asked them. "This is science gold! A real live vampire! Think of the regenerative tissue samples."

"Gee, thanks, Rust," Pete muttered, edging away from him a little. 

"Regenerative bullshit! You're thinking of starfish. Vampires can be killed by sunlight and silver," Billy snapped. "Why would you want to put combustible organic DNA into anyone? You'd be sued to kingdom come!"

"Whoa, alright, no need to get so testy! I'm just thinking you boys are a bit hasty with this whole reversal thing," Rusty attempted to soothe. "I mean, White, isn't this what you've wanted since college?"

Billy stopped searching. "Wait, what?" Pete froze like a statue.

"Didn't he tell you? Always with the Anne Rice books, and the gothic formal dress - you told me you wished you were a vampire countless times, White." 

Pete was shaking, digging his nails into his upper arms. "Eh. That was a long time ago, Rust," he said weakly, and Billy was aware that he was hearing something Pete had never wanted him to. 

"Oh come off it, you were wearing duds like that at the party last night! I saw you sulking by the bar. You can't tell me you given up all your dreams on immortality and being beautiful forever."

Pete flinched and Billy felt something ache in his chest at how suddenly very vulnerable the man looked. 

"I - I wanted to be something better than just an albino," he admitted unevenly. "A-Any stupid kid would want that, alright?! And I sure as fuck don't want to live forever now!" He turned and stormed off into an adjacent hallway.

"Sheesh, no need to be so dramatic."

Billy glowered at him, remembering again why he no longer looked up to this man. "You dick, aren't you supposed to be his best friend? You'd know by now he's got image issues."

Rusty shrugged. "Well, I mean, sure. Doesn't everyone?"

"Oh, eat a bag of dicks!" He slammed the cabinet drawer shut, nearly catching Dr. Venture's fingers, and went looking for White.


	5. Eternity

He hadn't gone far really. He'd only wanted a minute to suck it up and calm down before he could say anything else stupid.

What even was that back there, huh? He'd blown up at Rusty over a harmless little comment. It was probably fine, he'd just go back and apologize. And everything would be okay.

There was a high pitched whining in the back of his head, that almost sounded like screaming. Pete startled at the sound of cloth rustling as someone smaller sat beside him, putting their hands on his arm.

"Hey," Billy was saying gently. "You're kinda rocking back and forth a little, did you know that?"

Pete shook his head. His eyes felt wet. He wondered if dead people could even cry. 

"Why now?" He heard himself mutter. "Why'd it have to happen now?" Pete didn't want to be frozen forever in this part of his life; a forty-something loser who had done nothing of worth. Where was this offer when he was twenty and still thought he could take on the world? Or even when he'd first met . . .

Warmth pressed against his side as Billy leaned slightly into him, and he closed his eyes, feeling something drip down his face. He assumed they were tears. 

"It's going to be okay, White. We can find a way to reverse this. And even if we can't, it's not like your life is actually over. So you still can't go out in the sun, big deal! We'll just enjoy the night life of New York City. You won't have to drink anyone's blood either, we can find a tasteless plasma substitute and flavor it with anything you want. It'll be like an energy drink."

"Pally . . ."

"There's no way I'm ever gonna let anything bad happen to you, okay?" Billy said. It was so sweetly genuine and undeserved that Pete turned his face away, shivering wretchedly.

"Billy," he breathed out on a sob. "I can't . . ." 

Unbidden, the memory of an empty trailer came to mind. Billy had been missing for months. Pete had burned himself in the sun by searching and then continued to burn out of self loathing, surrounded by reminders of how badly he'd fucked up the kid's life. 

It had been pathetic and self destructive, and he honestly would have killed himself in a much quicker way if he'd had the guts to. Instead he'd lingered on painfully, keeping one frayed thread of hope alive, until the day Brock had shown up. 

Immortality would be just like that again; his own private hell of loneliness, with no miracles. 

"I don't want to outlive y-- everyone," Pete managed, lamely. "I can't do it." 

Billy looked startled, then thoughtful, and Pete just knew he was calling up statistics on how people with his specific medical condition wouldn't outlast an average healthy lifespan anyway. 

He looked at him imploringly and shook his head, not wanting to hear how this wouldn't change a thing.

"Okay," Billy soldiered on, "You still might not, you know. It's not like you're the Highlander all of a sudden. I mean, you could walk unknowingly into a gas station with UV lights and kapow. Become a shower of white ash and flaming hot Cheetos. Lamest vampire death ever."

Pete was startled into laughing. "Yeah," he agreed, the awful pressure in his chest lightening just enough. "Bet you ten bucks that's exactly how I die." 

"Oh, don't be so cheap, make it at least twenty," Billy teased, nudging him lightly.

He gladly welcomed the relief of their usual banter. Somehow it helped, knowing nothing was really that permanent.


	6. Answers

Pete held back another pained whimper as Billy pulled the needle out. There was no need to apply pressure; the hole simply closed as though it had never been. The blood that had come out into the vacationer looked just like any venous blood - dark red and fluid. It was a far cry from the black congealed clots that either of them had suspected.

What he saw under the microscope raised even more questions. "Okay, this is impossible. The blood cells are like normal, but they have no signs of deoxygenation. They're exactly as red as they should be! That's impossible - you're not even breathing!?"

"Don't worry about explaining it, Billy," Rusty scoffed, casually scrolling through the Internet on his phone. "Why don't you focus on the tests that are worth doing? You could be having way more fun with this!"

"This isn't _Mythbusters,_ here! I'm trying to figure out whether vampirism can even be reversed!"

"Two seconds on Wikipedia will answer that. And the answer is . . . yes. He just has to go find and kill the 'head vampire', whoever that is," Dr. Venture told him. 

Pete looked up in alarm. "Come on, Rusty, I'm not killing anybody!"

"No, we aren't," Billy reassured him, "Because that's from the movie _The Lost Boys_."

"Oh sure, like Hollywood doesn't hire people to research for them?" countered Rusty. 

"Hollywood produced _Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Slayer_ for crap's sake; the writers don't give two shits about accuracy! Also, any idiot can edit a Wikipedia page!" 

"Well, congratulations, now _you're_ that idiot!"

"What?!" 

"Think about it! We have a willing vampire, some apparently outdated and badly convoluted lore, and access to the Internet! We could update the page with our own findings."

Rusty walked over to stand above Pete, who shrank down a little into the bed. "Eh, what exactly would I be 'willing' to do here?"

"Here, hold out your arm." Rusty pressed something metal against the inside of Pete's elbow and almost immediately elicited a scream. 

Billy nearly flung himself at Venture like an angry cat. "The hell are you doing to him, you dick?!"

"He branded me!" Pete wailed, wrenching his arm away and curling over it protectively.

"Stop being such a baby, White, it's just a pen! A silver ballpoint pen. Apparently silver works for both vampires and werewolves. I wonder what garlic or holy water does?"

Billy shoved Rusty away from Pete's bedside. "Whatever it does, you can experiment on the skin and blood samples we already took, but not on White!" he snarled. 

"Fine, fine, I'll go pick up some supplies," Venture waved him off and started for the door. 

"Yeah, and if you come back with a wooden stake, it's going directly up your ass!" Billy warned him as the door swung shut.

He pushed the stool over and climbed up, trying to coax Pete into showing his arm. The rounded silver pen cap had left a scorched mark; a dark little circle with a V inside. Billy cleaned and dabbed some burn ointment on it.

"I promise he's not gonna do that again, but at least we know what kind of jewelry you can't wear now," Billy sighed. Pete nodded, looking distressed and shaken.

"Maybe we should take a break, huh? Go home for a bit? I'm dying to get out of this gown, it's embarrassing."

Billy hesitated, but nodded. "Okay, but you have to tell me if you feel weird, or crave blood or anything, White. Promise me."

He did, not even hesitating.


	7. Warmth

The house smelled as good as it always did, but Pete’s nose told him something else before they came in the front door. Someone had been baking.

“Oh, hi, boys! How was your day?”

A sweet lisping voice carried from the kitchen, accompanied by the soft clatter of measuring cups being lowered into the sink. Pete couldn’t help smiling as he took off his long dust jacket to hang up on the rack.

“We’re fine, Mom!” Billy called. “Just came home to rest up a bit.”

Rose came out of the kitchen, wearing her apron with cherubs on it. “Is my little baby tired out from working so late? I was worried you wouldn’t make it home to get dinner.”

Billy shuffled in embarrassment. “Really, I’m not that tired,” he promised, and looked relieved when Rose focused her attention onto Pete.

“My goodness, you look ill, sweetie!” She exclaimed softly, gently putting the back of her hand on Pete’s forehead. “And you’re so cold! Come into the kitchen and get warm.” Rose took his arm, and Billy looked relieved that she was fussing over somebody else for once.

“Eh, I’m fine,” Pete weakly tried to insist, though he didn’t mind the attention at all. By comparison, his own mother had left him starved for it. “You don’t have to worry about me, Ms. W.”

If he could see Billy’s expression now, he would have been surprised to see it soften, watching their interaction.

“Nonsense. You’re part of our family, and I think you could use some worrying over. This weather lately has been dreadful. First it’s hot all week, and tonight it’s supposed to hail. No wonder you got sick!”

“It’s a bit more complicated than that,” Pete found himself admitting. Billy hurriedly stepped in.

“He’s got a kind of blood disease, uh, anemia! It’s common in albinos, especially in areas with so many weather fluctuations.” Billy gave a look to Pete that meant ‘play along’.

He knew Rose wouldn’t mind Pete being a vampire so long as they kept it under control. However, if Action Man or Gentleman found out, Billy couldn’t be sure of their reaction.

Pete looked uncomfortable for a moment with the untruth, but nodded. “Yeah, we were at the lab, trying to figure that out.”

“Oh, you poor thing. I know what will help,” Rose cooed, caressing his cheek. Pete all but melted, leaning slightly into the touch before catching himself. Embarrassed he looked anywhere else but Billy as Rose took milk out of the fridge and poured it in a cup. She added a dollop of molasses and sugar to it, then stirred it up.

“This is full of iron, dear, so it should help.”

Pete wasn’t sure if vampires could drink milk, but no force on earth could make him refuse Rose’s attempt to 'mom’ him - not even if it was straight poison.

He smiled back at her helplessly and drained the cup.

It didn’t hurt him any more than it could cure him. Though he laid awake for hours after Billy had gone to sleep, craving more of the kindness that had come with it.


	8. Accuracy

His cellphone ringing in the middle of the night woke Billy up. He muttered and turned over irritably to ignore it. The third time it rang, Billy was awake enough to realize White was no longer stretched out beside him. 

Pete's unexplained absence made Billy get up hurriedly to answer it. "What - where are you?!"

"Billy, you're awake?! Thank god, I'm such an idiot, I couldn't sleep so I went for a walk," his friend was babbling, voice uneven with stress and panic. This was not good; Pete sounded on the verge of a breakdown.

"White, just stay with me, what's happening right now?"

Every possible catastrophe raced through Billy's head - from Pete suddenly blood-lusting to being surrounded by a crazed mob. Why had he gone off alone?

"It-It's hailing!" Pete sobbed. "It's hailing, Billy, and I'm trying to - to figure out how many there are, but the stupid things keep melting and it's-it's coming down too fast. I'm never gonna get it right -"

Billy shook his head in confusion, not understanding at all, but the desperation breaking Pete's voice made his chest hurt. He peered out the bedroom window to verify that there were indeed tiny pea-sized particles bouncing against the glass. "White, where are you? Why are you trying to count hailstones?"

His brain was filling that answer in for him already; clearly it was part of a nervous breakdown Pete was having from all this. His friend did not answer save for muffled, panicked sobbing. A woman's voice, also muffled, was heard asking for the phone.

White must have surrendered it, because Billy was suddenly getting an earful of friendly old Italian grandmother. "Hello, you good friend? You good friend, yes?"

"Uh, yes, I'm - his name is Pete, who is this?" Billy asked, nervously. He tried not to break the phone with his hand out of anxiety. "And where are you? What's happening?"

"Is alright, your friend is safe now. I have nephew just like him, same condition. Goes crazy when hail falls or when truck comes to throw salt. Your friend safe, I promise. I put coat over his head so he cannot see."

"I'm sorry, I don't understand?"

"He is fledgling, yes? New vampire? My nephew, he is one too - bitten last year. It can be very dangerous, if caught out before sunrise. He is compelled; must undo knots and count everything. Sand, rice, birdseed, ice salt - heaven help him if he walks by tennis court."

Billy's jaw dropped. "Wait a second, so this is a vampire thing?"

"You are learning too, eh? We are at bus station, at Kings street. I wait with him, keep him from looking at weather. You come quick." 

Not needing to be told twice, he grabbed a coat and his wallet, running as fast as he could for a cab lane.


	9. Lessons

Her name was Esta, and she waved cheerfully at him as soon as Billy got out of the taxi. He heard her chattering to the bundle of terrified albino vampire beside her as he told the cab to wait.

"Pete-" Billy swiftly ducked out of the weather and under the covered bus stop to check over his friend.

The coat-covered lump reached out a pair of hands to draw Billy close, practically curling around him. He could feel Pete shaking.

"You're okay," he soothed, rubbing the man's arms through the woman's burgundy woolen coat. "I told the cab to wait so we can get you home."

"I tell you he's in bad shape," Esta warned him. She was shivering without her coat, but she waved off Billy's flustered attempts to give her his own to put over her shoulders; no way her arms would fit in the sleeves. "He needs fed, this fledgling. I know a place. Let me come with."

Billy was hesitant.

"Let her go with us, fella, I - I trust her." Of course, Pete would trust any woman who was kind to him, but now this stranger was talking about places to find blood. 

Human blood.

He was a little wary, but then again, he wasn't about to just leave her here with no coat. Esta climbed into the cab with them along with her three bags of groceries. Billy rode in awkward silence, carefully balancing half a carton of eggs on his right knee, while holding a cuddling vampire to his left.

Yes, cuddling; Pete was actually curling into him. It wasn't that Billy minded, a small part of his brain might have even been strangely satisfied, but for Pete it was weird.

"He's cold, eh? Don't worry, we fix that up. Eh driver, East 32nd street. We want the Stromm Brothers Deli."

"A deli? That's no place to get bl -- ow!"

"Ssst!" Esta's bony elbow dug into his ribs. She looked at him and rolled her eyes meaningfully to a sticker on the plexiglass separating them from the cab driver. A red circle, white fangs, with a silver engraved stake slashed vertically across the image did not paint a very tolerant atmosphere.

The words 'Soldiers of Mercy' were stenciled beneath, and Esta's gaze was hard as she glanced back to him. Billy was certain that if the old woman could get away with spitting, she would have nailed the offensive mark.

For the rest of the tide, Billy sat in terror, hoping he hadn't babbled anything about Pete or vampires on the way to pick him up. The cabbie seemed uninterested in them, and Esta squeezed Billy's arm reassuringly. She grinned and rolled an imaginary joint between her fingers, then put it to her mouth, pretending to get theatrically high.

He snorted, starting to really like her, despite his earlier qualms. She was right - the cab reeked of weed. Billy hadn't noticed before in his panic. The driver might be alright to drive, but he wasn't exactly in prime vampire hunting condition at the moment.

They got out at the deli, and Esta coaxed Pete over to the wall as Billy paid the fare. White had his eyes tightly shut, but he wasn't speaking and his hand was clamped over his mouth.

Fortunately there wasn't far to walk. Esta led them down an alley beside the deli, and down a set of stairs with a black awning stretched above it. There was no business name on the door, just the icon of a large black swan burned into the wood of the door.

Their guide knocked a certain number of times and it creaked open, letting her and her brood inside.

It was a dark restaurant, more like an Outhouse Steakhouse in terms of lighting, but less noise. A young black-haired man behind the bar glanced their way. "How many of you are hanging tonight?" he asked lazily.

Esta gave him a look and grabbed at his ear, making him yelp. "You stop that, Valentino! Get your skinny jeans out here and find for us a booth!" She chided loudly. The boy snatched up a rag and scurried off to either find or clean off a free table, fleeing Esta's rapid fire Italian commentary on his poor customer service.

"He knows my nephew, I know him. Robert is good boy. He moved to live with his uncle from eh, somewhere in Oregon, after his parents disappeared." Esta patted Pete's arm. "Take your hand down, let us see. Is safe here." Pete shook his head.

"Wait, his parents disappeared?" Billy asked, also tugging Pete's arm.

"Eh, don’t feel too bad. Trust me, he’s better off. Man that owns this place is boy's uncle - Edward Valentino. Long time friend, and friend to all vampires. Black swan you saw on door? That is vampire term for human who is sympathetic to your friend's kind. 

“Valentino is only name to trust around here, for vampires. Don't listen to anyone else who tells you different," Esta warned darkly. "No matter how nice they seem." This time, she did spit.

She firmly pulled down Pete's arm and he gave a mortified whimper, fangs visible beneath his upper lip. "See, they look beautiful! You take very good care of teeth, yes? They'll go away when you feed."

"Yeah, th-they look great," Billy agreed kindly, trying to be supportive. Pete glanced at him imploringly, not looking like he believed it. "No, really, they do, White! People can really tell how much you floss -"

"Okay, table for three or whatev- oh hey, nice chompers, new guy." Robbie said, grinning at Pete. Esta snatched the boys cleaning rag from him and started thrashing him with it, swearing at him in vexation.

"Gah, okay, stop! Your table's this way. _Ugh."_

He seemed irritably tolerant of Esta's muttered scolding, leading them into a nice corner booth. Robbie showed a surprising amount of patience with Peter, however, explaining the menu items he would want to start with immediately. He seemed to recognize symptoms of thirst when he saw them.

Neither Esta nor Billy ordered anything, but Robbie obligingly carried Esta's groceries back to store in their walk in cooler. He returned with a dark red mug, slightly steaming. The boy set both down and then put a straw with a strange mouthpiece attached in Pete's drink. It was thick semi-rigid silicone, meant to keep fangs from gnashing one's own bottom lip open during feeding.

Pete inserted his fangs as instructed, closed his lips around it awkwardly, and then took an experimental drain from the straw. The change was instant. His hands snapped to clench the mug, holding it still as he inhaled the drink ravenously. Both his pupils glowed pale blue, like flame. Billy looked on in a combination of awe and horror, nearly telling Pete to breathe before he remembered.

"Ah, so is -is that blood?" He asked Robbie nervously.

"Yeah, some type B. I warmed it up and mixed some extra hemoglobin in. He'll want a plasma shooter to follow that up, maybe some fried scabs if he's still hungry. How about you, want a meat slab?"

"Uh," Billy floundered, unable to take his eyes off Pete. "You mean a stea--"

Robbie fake-coughed loudly to drown him out. "Sorry, we don't say that word here," he explained lowly, leaning towards Billy. "Lots of our customers have lost friends and family that way, so you know . . . _meat slab."_

The penny dropped. "Ohhh . . . No thanks. But really, where do you get all this blood? From a hospital?"

Robbie glanced at Esta, who smiled back at him fondly, reaching a long bony arm up to pat his shoulder. Billy saw the affection between them easily now.

"We have this network of private donors, or whatever," he explained somewhat shyly, and rolled up a sleeve to show a fresh bandage. "Friends, family and volunteers. Esta's nephew became one of my best friends after I moved up last year."

"See, I told you he's good boy. Rough around the edges and very sarcastic," Esta glared at him as though that were a cardinal sin, "but he has good heart."

Robbie rolled his eyes, but he was smirking faintly in amusement.

"I cannot give very much any more, you see. These old veins," she sighed, and showed Billy her own arm. It certainly had its share of needle holes and a large hematoma where a vein might have been punctured through. Billy wondered how experienced their phlebotomist was.

Pete finished feeding and remained half slumped over his empty drink, looking exhausted. Robbie smoothly took the mug from the straw and put a napkin down to catch any stray drops.

He was too out of it to really notice much until their erstwhile waiter returned with a jar of something that honestly looked like piss. It too was pre-warmed, and Pete quite contentedly slurped up the plasma. He no longer seemed as frenzied, but his eyes still had that beautiful ethereal glow.

Billy caught himself staring, and looked away, flushing a little.

"Okay, so . . . how do I donate?" He asked, smiling brightly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly wasn't planning for Robbie to show up at all, he just sort of appeared in an unexpected cameo? Eh. He may or may not return, but Esta definitely will. She's fun to write, okay. This chapter sprawled but there was lots of setup for bigger stuff in the future.


End file.
